When my buddy Shapour and I teamed up to sell at the local farmer's market in Georgia, we were often asked,

"So what kind of stuff do you guys grow?"

The answer, every time, was soil.

﻿

If it can die, it can be reborn.﻿-Geoff Lawton,the central tenet of composting

I could ramble for hours about soil: blathering on and on about the mystery and magic of this complex web of life; praising it's ability, through the rhythmic life and death of innumerable microscopic beings, to capture and cycle nutrients; beleaguering the carbon capture issue; marvelling at the water-holding capacity of a living soil versus an inert dirt; espousing the nutrient-density argument.... Today I'll spare you the ramble and simply say that Soil is where it's at, and divulge how we co-create it here at Taproot.

There's a lot of ways to compost, but my favorite for a small-scale intensive-gardening operation is the classic three bin system. When utilized effectively, this hot-compost process generates enough finished product to top-dress a few beds every week or so throughout the season. I prefer this method because 1.) it's a hot process, meaning the decomposition is predominately bacterial, which helps build the type of soil that annuals thrive in, 2.) it's quick enough to use it throughout the growing season, generally taking about a month from being built in Bin 1, flipped twice, sifted and spread, and 3.) it only needs tending about once a week, which fits nicely into the growing season routine and allows us to process much of our animal bedding and crop residues as they're generated.

At it's core, composting is a cooperative endeavor between humans and our microbial allies. Though our understanding of these microscopic friends is still extremely limited, we've learned enough to nudge the process along. We know that creating an environment in which decomposers thrive hinges on 3 factors:

The Ratio of Carbon to Nitrogen (C:N). The ideal composition of a compost pile has a C:N of about 20:1, 20 parts Carbon to 1 part Nitrogen. Everything you toss in will have it's own C:N, e.g., straw = 100:1, vegetable wastes = 12:1, and so on. There's loads of charts on the old interwebs, just google "C:N ratio table" to check them out (I like this one from Cornell: On-Farm Composting Handbook ). You'll find this referred to in various ways when you read about compost: GREEN (N) to BROWN (C), or WET (N) to DRY (C). When I was first getting compost cooking a few years ago, I would measure everything as I built my pile in 5 gallon buckets: 1 bucket of veggie scraps to 3 or so buckets of chopped leaves or straw. Nowadays, I eyeball it, but that experience helped me fine-tune how the piles were built until I had a handle on the materials I was using.

Air. We're shooting for an aerobic decomposition. Without adequate airflow, you end up with a gooey, stinky blob of a pile. I've seen my fair share of ingenious methods to increase airflow within a pile, but have found that building bins out of reclaimed pallets (on the bottom, sides, & back) with dividers made of a metal mesh (chicken wire or hardware cloth) provides sufficient airflow for our purposes.

Water. Like everything else on this wacky planet, our microbial buddies like just the right amount of moisture. Too little and they can't perform vital life functions, too much and they basically drown while their smelly anaerobic cousins move in. This is one of trickiest bits. Dry straw or leaves can absorb a copious amount of water, while fresh crop residue or rotted scraps contain a lot on their own. The goal is to have a moisture content similar to that of a wrung out sponge: moist enough that when squeezed a drop or two of water trickle out.

Pick & I poke into a 2 day old pile to point out veggie scraps within the straw, only to find that they have mostly disappeared.

Mesh sides allow for airflow. This batch is 2-3 weeks along.

A Few Tips:

I've found that building a pile all at once seems to work better for this particular composting method than tossing in materials willy-nilly. We have a spare bin next to the compost where we pile crop residues, weeds (that haven't gone to seed!), and the occasional funky lookin' vegetable. Just outside the garden, near the compost corner, I like to keep a pile of more carbon-heavy materials: old straw, rotted hay, woodchips or sometimes animal bedding. When enough materials accumulate (which is pretty quick around here) we build a new pile.

The smaller your composting material is, the more surface area there is for the microbes to do their thing, the faster your organic matter becomes rich humus. A shredder is an incredible tool to have on hand, but short of that, running it over with a lawn mower is effective if somewhat messy, or try my preferred method: hacking stuff up with a machete as the pile gets built.

Building the Pile

As I said, I used to measure all my composting materials, but now I've simplified my life somewhat. Here's how I build a pile, from the bottom up:

Loosely cover the bottom of the bin with about 6 inches of twigs, straw, woodchips, &/or leaves (C). I always like to start with twigs if they're available because I think it allows more air penetration from the bottom of the pile.

Add 2-4 inches of veggie scraps, crop residue, weeds, etc. (N)

Top with another 4-6 inches of straw, woodchips, or leaves (C)

Sprinkle a 1-2 inch layer of compost booster on top (with a working system this can be materials sifted out of the finished compost; a few handfuls of healthy garden soil; chopped comfrey and yarrow; or urine, beer, or coca-cola in a pinch)

Continue layering in this fashion, watering each successive layer, until your pile is a little taller than the bin it's built in, making sure to top the pile with a nice thick layer of C

Cover the pile. Not everyone does this, but it really helps maintain the appropriate moisture level and prevents nutrients leeching during rain events.

And now, you wait. Within 2-3 days the pile should be heating up and visibly shrinking. A 24" compost thermometer really helps monitor the pile, but for a fairly long time I relied on opening a hole with a spading fork and sticking my hand down in it. It'll be steamy on a cool morning. On day 2 the compost should be up to at least 120*F and climbing. If it hasn't gotten hot by the 2nd day, something's amiss: for me it's generally a lack of Nitrogen, but can also be the result of too much or too little water, or lack of air. Within 3-4 days, a week at the outside, the pile will usually peak at about 150-160*F. When the temperature starts cooling off, it's time to turn the compost.

Turning is relatively simple and pretty fascinating: most of the action is taking place in the heart of the pile so when you flip it from the first bin into the second, you want to try to get everything that was on the edges into the center, and the more decomposed materials from the center out to the edge. It's this flipping action that keeps everything decomposing at nearly the same rate, while simultaneously reintroducing oxygen -- literally breathing more life into the process.

In the bin #2 the pile will heat up again, but often it doesn't get quite as hot and sometimes takes a little longer (I'm pleased when it hits 130-140*, ecstatic at 150*). (Meanwhile, if the materials are readily available, build another pile in bin #1.) When the temperature again begins to drop and the pile has visibly shrunk (about a week), flip the contents of bin #2 into bin #3.

By the time it's made it to bin #3, most of the materials should be unrecognizable. Straw, leaves and twigs should be the only remnants. At this stage, things cool off, steadily cooking around 100-120*F. Various invertebrates, many so tiny as to be invisible, will join the party and start shredding the remnants. After a week of cooling down, it's usually ready to sift.

We sift through a 1/2 inch metal mesh into a fourth bin where the compost rests until we need it, setting aside microbe-addled larger objects (sticks, twigs, bone, coconut husks, etc.) to use as a booster in the next pile.

At this point, experts differ in how long you should let your compost age before using it in the garden. Some sources say 6 months to a year, others say a few weeks or months is sufficient.

Here's the thing: if you're planning on mixing your compost into a potting mix or tilling it in to the soil, you'd do well to let it set a spell (in a covered container of course). Our eyes can only perceive so much, and there's still a lot of decomposition happening as the organic matter stabilizes into humus. If you mixed this "fresh" compost directly in, the result could be a temporary nitrogen tie-up or burning your plants.

Here on the farm though, we build the soil from the top down, same as Nature does albeit in a slightly sped-up manner.

We use this "fresh" compost as a top-dressing -- a manufactured O Horizon if you will -- where the humification process occurs where soil and amendment meet. Leaving the soil strata intact allows the vast multitude of creatures in the Earth a safe space in which to grow and proliferate, like an underground microcosm of Taproot Farm. It's these billions of lifeforms and the connections between them that enable our continued existence, and around here gratitude is often expressed with gifts of food. So we feed our microbes, which in turn feed our plants, which in turn feed us... and so on... and so on....

Happy composting, y'all. Hope this helps.

Resources:

Teaming with Microbes, by Jeff Lowenfels & Wayne Lewis. An excellent primer on the soil food web with instructions on creating different types of compost and compost teas.

On the first evening of my stay at Taproot, Beth asked me if I would like to paint something to leave with the farm, ..." perhaps something with lots of fruits and vegetables, a cornucopia of sorts with colors that make you salivate", she suggested. I considered this challenge during the first week of our stay, looking for inspiration amongst the giant tomato plants in the garden, the wildflowers in the permaculture patch, and in the thoughts that washed over me during meditation.

Amidst all of these places and moments an idea popped into my head while arranging flowers one Saturday morning for CSA. Beth and I were discussing the joys of floral arrangements and how there are many ways one can receive nourishment, including tasks as simple as appreciating the beauty of a flower and it's placement within a bouquet. I was drawn to the idea of nourishment and what that means to be nourished. I began thinking about energy and how every living thing on the earth returns into the circle or wheel of life, a neverending transferring and transforming of energy from one being to the next- every death resulting in new life or energy, every life nourishing another life. At this point I decided I wanted to paint something about nourishment and transformation.

When I started brainstorming ideas for deliciously colored produce to include in my painting, I was drawn to the deep, earthy reds of beets and radishes, the vibrant hues of orange and yellow blossoms that pop amidst the greenery of the garden, and the unique and soothing tones of blue and violet resting in the berry patch or an eggplant that really does make you salivate.

The colors of the garden reminded me of the colors used to represent the 7 chakras. The chakras are like wheels within the human body that transfer and transform energy from within the individual out into the world or vice versa. I decided that I wanted to use different types of fruits and veggies to symbolize the chakras throughout my painting, each plant representing a different level and type of nourishment from the earth.

Food is grown in soil from the bones and memories of past lives and brought back into our kitchens in order to provide us with nourishment and energy that we can then put back into the world.

This painting is about nourishment of mind, body, and spirit... allowing oneself to be a vessel of energy like a flower- taking in light from the sun, allowing the bees to drink the nectar you have created, and pollinating the other flowers around you with the beautiful and nourishing gifts you have grown.

This piece is a culmination of the energy and nourishment I gathered while at Taproot Farm. I leave it behind... to share with all of you what I have grown here.

Made with love,

Johanna Murray

Ps- Jo created this delicious masterpiece to adorn our new Summer Kitchen- a place where we'll turn garden crops into jams, relishes, sauces, etc...

Here it hangs beside the door, inspiring us to come in and Play with Food! Thank you, Jo!

In May 2014, my girlfriend, Johanna Murray, and I quit our jobs in Omaha, Nebraska. Jo was a waitress and an educator at a local forest preserve, and I was a music teacher at the School of Rock Omaha. We decided to leave our hometown to become Willing Workers On Organic Farms (WWOOFERS) so we could learn about growing food; food that is nutritionally dense, local, wholesome, the kind of food that has become a luxury in a world dominated by large-scale industrial farming. Our home state of Nebraska has been overrun by such farming operations, with expansive corn and soybean monocultures; rows and rows stretching as far as the eye can see. On Mother's Day, (a few days before our departure) I spent a couple hours pulling the dandelions out of my parents' front yard, not because the little yellow flowers bothered my Mom (Wendy) and Dad (Tom) - the dandelions were scaring the neighbors! (Who fought fiercely to rid their green lawns of imperfections). So with a little shovel and my bare hands, I dug into the clay (there is no topsoil in the city of Omaha), waging war against the evil, unwanted perennial weeds!

Tree roots at work.

Wrapping up my four week stay at Taproot Farm, I'm looking back on that Mother's Day with fresh perspective; a perspective inspired by speaking with Josh (the farm apprentice/permaculture guru) about the "fragipan" (a dense layer of clay, so dense that most plants can't grow roots through it and ultimately die) - a soil condition that exists just below the surface of much of the land here at Taproot. As a permaculturist, Josh reads the land like a doctor reads a human's vitals. He notices the Sycamore trees (the ones that "grow like weeds around here") and doesn't see an invader, he sees a helper. He sees a tree with a taproot strong enough to pierce the cement-like fragipan, slowly opening up the soil so other plants can reach the nutrients and water table below. Nature has a funny way of giving us exactly what we need to turn hard soil into something we can actually grow berries in! I guess the dandelions we label as invaders (with their long, white taproots) are really just trying to restore the rich, fluffy soil we all love - and they'll do it for free!

Reflecting on my taproot experience in Omaha, and my Taproot experiences here on the farm, I'm beginning to believe that Mother Earth isn't just sending distress signals regarding the composition of our soils, she's also revealing the emotional, physical, and spiritual deficiencies of humanity as well.

During the Wednesday night Meditation Circles at the farm, I was invited to practice Mindfulness as a way to loosen my own spiritual soil... taking time to observe the layers of thinking and reacting that often dictate how I interact with my environment. Each week presented another opportunity to create more airy spaces, and shed old skins. I find that when I break through my spiritual fragipan, I am free to absorb what's happening around me; allowing me to listen, to learn, and to see.... And I begin to wonder...what would a society look like that was free of emotional and spiritual fragipans? (...I wonder what my old man would have to say about all of this?)

Every year I ask my Dad what he wants for his birthday, and every year he replies: " world peace." Since I love my Dad, I feel inclined to follow through on this request at some point before 2040, (hoping for good health and an absence of super-volcanic eruptions). Considering how to bring about world peace is a daunting task - so many wars, so many people, such a big planet...such a big waste of time? There has to be a logical place to start?

Back in Omaha I had a poster pinned to my bedroom wall of the Dalai Lama sitting in a lotus position, dressed in red monk robes, staring blankly at the floor, with a quote at the bottom: "World peace must develop from inner peace. Peace is not the absence of violence, peace is the manifestation of human compassion." So... the destination and the sequence for world peace exist! But where's the map of how to get there? How do I/we/the world arrive at inner peace? Not only that, but how can we love ourselves so much that we generate a surplus worth dishing out to the world?

Pretty sweet.

I mean, what kind of society even cares about all that liberal, hippie, Sgt. Pepper's-era-Beatles nonsense? What am I, a honey bee? ... Forming a symbiotic relationship with my environment so I can make enough sweet, delicious honey to share not only with my hive, but pay rent to the landlord (aka the beekeeper) and pollinate along the way? Why should I make honey for the old man in the farm house? He's always blowing smoke in the front door; digging through my pantry. I'll give him credit, though, he doesn't mow down the wild flowers, and there's a garden close by with all sorts of golden colored squash blossoms. As long as he keeps that going, maybe it's not such a bad deal after all, gathering all that pollen and making honey. Pretty sweet... a win/win.

Maybe making peace is like making honey? If we can draw from the goodness of our environment, transform it into something even sweeter, share it, and do so in a way that keeps the cycle going from now until eternity... everyone gets to eat honey, and that's pretty sweet ;)

Me among the bees, (...whoa)

In his book, The Resilient Farm and Homestead, permaculturist and author Ben Falk describes our immediate and surrounding environments in terms of "zones". Beginning with zone 00 - "The human being: physical, mental, and spiritual; body, mind, self. This is the space you occupy every moment of every day." My 00 zone is often a battle ground, with different voices vying for attention.

My personal planner is always first in line, reminding me of all the tasks, chores, bills, future plans, people I need to call, what's for breakfast, what time is breakfast, what's the weather like?... And my narrator always shows up too. He tries to absorb every life experience, past and present, and arrange them into the most epic, transcendental, life-changing narrative; casting all my friends, family, and enemies into supporting roles of my grandiose life performance. Narrator-Mike likes to team up with songwriter-Mike, the one who's constantly clapping his hands and turning everything into a rhyme. Greedy-Mike shoves his head into the middle of conversations: "Drink all the beer! Eat all the lemon bars! Sex! Sex! Sex! Sex! Me! Me! Me! Me!"

But I'm starting to learn how to cultivate my 00 zone... if I take time to breathe, listen, breathe some more, listen, acknowledge my inner voices, my habitual trains of thought, and let them pitch in their two cents... at some point, there will be enough space amidst the rambling banter for me to relax and say:

"Welcome back fellas, thanks for looking out for me, thanks for trying to write stories and songs and get me where I need to go on time, and thanks for reminding me that I also need to party and eat apple pie." (Greedy-Mike raises his glass, we've found a middle ground over the years, he's not so bad in small doses)."

"I hear you all, I see you all, let's just sit down in a Circle, shut up, and be mindful of this body, this mind, this conception of self."

"Let's arrive in the moment we all exist in, let's practice being here, in the space where stories are shared, where songs are heard. And in this space (unlimited it seems) I will plant a peace-tree seed. As I grow older (maybe wiser), may the branches reach higher, may the taproots creep deep into the soil... into the seams. May I draw from the richness of life that surrounds me, and channel it into more fruit, more seeds; and when my tree is lush and green, with my pockets full of seeds, may I plant another peace-tree seed, and share it with the bees."

I did not intend to intern/WWOOF this summer. Ending up at Taproot Farm these past three weeks was a product of a dear friend’s gentle nudge, my love of the outdoors, acquaintance with this beautiful farm, and not being able to afford a traditional summer vacation. When I applied I had recently finished a serious round of interviews for a global health fellowship which would take me back to East Africa to work for a year. I was so excited about this opportunity that I led myself to believe that I was ‘IN”. Flash-forward: I didn’t make the cut. Womp womp. Oh well! Over the past 3 years I, like many 20-somethings right now, have been dabbling in my different interests through various jobs and volunteering. So, when my friend forwarded me the application, I thought- hey that could be great! I’ve had friends WWOOF in faraway places and come back to tell of WONDERFUL or terrifying experiences. Why not spend some time Wwoofing at Taproot Farm in May? Looking back now though, I think I ended up here through a somewhat unconscious desire to transition out of my day-to-day in Baltimore. Beth and Tim joke that many of the folks who have helped on this farm are in a time of transition. I am so glad that my path led me here. I think this organic farming bug has stuck for awhile! Who knows? Stay tuned friends! So, why Taproot Farm? Having visited the farm for a Wednesday night Meditation Circle last January with friends, I had a small idea what the farm was all about. Taproot is a small, family-run, organic farm like many others, but there is also the community learning, practicing mindfulness, and the vision of Beth and Tim that makes this place unique. Beginning to incorporate Permaculture planning and practices into their farming is one of the biggest ways I see how Taproot is different from other small farms (Go Josh!). Elli said it best when she told me, “At Taproot they see WWOOFing as a learning experience, so they are going to teach you a lot.” That was right on the money! Since being here I have learned to plant a lot of veggies (holy tomatoes and basil!), harvest for the biweekly CSA pickups, build an awesome compost pile, make compost tea, make pepper spray to deter pests, build a hugelkultur bed, gather eggs, care for chickens, rams, ewes, and lambs, inspect bee hives, process honey, make and can strawberry jam, take a weed walk to identify medicinal and edible plants on the farm, cook with all the delicious ingredients available, and loads of other fun things. Sarah and I joked that our last week of WWOOFing was ‘field trip week’ because we were able to visit two other small organic farms run by friends of Taproot. Seeing some of the practices and visions of these other farms helps all of us learn and reinforces the most important thing I’ve learned while interning: it is doable to grow and raise our own healthy food at home and a lot of the time it is fun. I’m already thinking about where I can grow tomatoes in Baltimore during the last month of my lease (my car?), and how I can spend more time near pigs, goats, and horses. Thanks a lot Taproot Farm team! -Kai

Almost all the eggs in the potato bed have hatched.

Sarah's Take:

It's partly just the circles I live in, but I have rarely ever encountered anyone surprised that I want to WWOOF. But the sticking point is always where I want to WWOOF. "That's awesome! Where? I've always wanted to do it in Ireland!" (Hawaii is another popular one). And then they're a little taken aback when I answer: Maine, West Virginia, and Minnesota. West Virginia is the particularly hard one. I have been living in Boston for 5+ years and when I am done traveling will be moving to Vermont. My friends and acquaintances in New England do not really understand West Virginia or why I would want to get to know it.

I am very much a New Englander at heart (and was born in Boston), but I grew up in Maryland in the DC suburbs (and I can seem very Maryland to my born-and-raised New England friends-- I do not count candlepin bowling as real bowling, I'm pretty sure everything is better with Old Bay, and I am absolutely sure that crab is better than lobster). Since I have known I wanted to WWOOF, I have known I wanted to WWOOF in West Virginia.

If my WWOOFing is about understanding local/regional food, I believe I should check it out in the region I did most of my growing in- the Potomac River Watershed. And if it's about understanding how to change my lifestyle to one that's more healthy, sustainable, and fulfilling, I don't want to go to Hawaii to learn that. I will never live in Hawaii and I am not even really a beach person. This region is "home" enough to me that I got excited when I crossed the Line coming here. And it turns out West Virginia's climate and species are surprisingly similar to that in Vermont and Massachusetts. It turns out I really love West Virginia and could see myself living here, for a while at least. Pushing your boundaries is important, but I think you can sometimes learn more from just barely stepping outside your comfort zone than from jumping as far away as possible.

Taproot turned out to be exactly what I wanted. I learned a lot about farming, but especially farming as part of a whole lifestyle, one that's practical for me. (In Omnivore's Dilemma when Michael Pollan visits Polyface farm, nobody drinks coffee. That is definitely not the case here at Taproot.) The farming here is tangled up in art, spirituality, and a whole lot of being really goofy. -Sarah

Stepping outside this morning in my underoos surely shook the sleep from my eyes. Judging from social media, lows in the 30s last night came as something of a surprise around here. What surprises me most is that we're still surprised by bizarre weather events.

We're having fun designing and testing a new crop rotation plan for both our annual vegetable gardens- the high tunnel greenhouse and the 1/2- acre "Potager" (kitchen garden with emphasis on veggies).

While I've shuffled crops around in past years, it's never been planned on paper in a way I could confidently refer to year after year. And, since our goals include more sustainable farm systems (sustainable= continuous, enduring), Josh and I spent a few winter afternoons doing just that- surveying and drawing the gardens; talking about past experiences; and blending the wisdom of favorite garden gurus (Elliot Coleman, Ed Smith, Mel Bartholomew...) with our love of systems. ...not to mention utilizing Josh's wonderful architectural skills.

Ta dah! We've got a plan!And, yes..... just looking at it makes this elementary school teacher's heart happy.

Our Potager garden rotational "dance". Each colored area is about 200 sq. feet of planting space. With 9 colors, a plant family can rotate to the next color block without returning to the same soil for 9 years. Plus we have lots of unplanned "free agent" beds to play with.

Beans and peas enrich the soil. A good gardening practice is to follow beans or peas with heavy feeders such as tomatoes and peppers which love the nitrogen left behind by their predecessors.

Why Rotate Your Crops?

To keep a vegetable garden healthy, you want to avoid repeating the same planting plan in the same spot. This practice, called crop rotation, can feel a bit like juggling, but it's important to prevent crop-specific pests and diseases from building up and carrying over from one season to the next in the soil. If you move a crop, the problem has no host on which to live. In addition, rotation encourages better use of soil nutrients and amendments.

Ideally, plant a vegetable (or vegetable family) in a particular bed only one year out of a minimum of three. Taproot has space for a longer rotation cycle- meaning, for example, the Brassica family (broccoli, cabbage, etc...) won't be planted again in the same area for 9 years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~“From his experience as a researcher at Rutgers, Firmin Bear stated that well-thought-out crop rotation is worth 75 percent of everything else that might be done, including fertilization, tillage, and pest control. To my mind, crop rotation is the most important practice in a multiple-cropping program." -Elliot Coleman ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the drawing board, Josh puzzled through our plan by shuffling labeled crop/plant family markers. The goal is to have plantings move in a logical order and direction (whether it’s left to right, front to rear, circular, etc...). We expect to improvise and innovate until it becomes fluid. And when in doubt about a rotation, we'll just slip in a crop of beans, leafy greens or cover crop.

Notice each bed is labeled with a color (rotation group), a letter (north/east/south/west quadrant) and a bed number. That way we can accurately refer to planting areas when indoors planning or working with interns (~plus Tim gets to make more signs!)

The Mustard Family beds (under insect cloth) and Pea Family beds soaking up this nice spring rain.

I like this short You Tube video: Crop Rotation Made Simple explaining the virtues of crop rotation and a simple way to design it on the computer (if you don't have a Josh :-) ) It is worth watching just to hear the fella's lovely English accent and hear him say "plahnt" and "toe-mah-toe".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Elliot Coleman's Four-Season Harvest is a favorite resource in our farm library. Here he offers some Guidelines for Rotation :

Last year's Wwoof interns, Kristin and Nick, relaxing a bit and enjoying the garden systems at work.

It seems that all this upfront work will be worth the effort. After a few years of fine-tuning, the payoff for this level of garden planning could be pretty great — a long-term rotation plan that not only runs itself, but benefits every crop we grow.

So, the way we're looking at it, sustainable systems are Tim's and my retirement plan. One day we'll simply be sitting on the front porch sipping dandelion wine watching the whole thing run like clockwork!

This is our fourth season raising hogs -- and we just love it. They are very social animals that are a joy to watch and interact with. Watching pigs race around the pen, burrow in the unmowed brush, or wallowing in the mud will make you laugh. They love attention and a good neck scratching. And it is always sad day then we transport them to Alleghany Meats for processing.But boy is the pork delicious! What other animal can give you the diversity of tastes and cuts? (Sorry beef and chicken lovers) Nothing compares to ham, bacon, various sausages, pork chops, pulled pork, lard -- all from one happy animal.

While they are fun to grow, hog-raising has to be profitable to make it sustainable. For Taproot Farm, the economics of hog raising is -- and always has been positive. Farmers have labeled hogs "the mortgage lifter", because they contribute cash to slim farm incomes. We buy our weaned pigs (feeder pigs) from a couple of local farmers at about 8 weeks old. The males are castrated before we accept them to avoid the foul taste called "boar taint". These "barrows" can be raised with the female "gilts" -- and we generally get 2 or 3 pigs at a time at a cost of $50 to $65 each.

Josh makes new friends by sharing his apple.

For those interested in the nitty gritty of hog-raising, here's how we do it:

Feeder pigs weigh only about 35 to 45 lbs when they arrive at Taproot. We grow them to "market weight" of about 250 lbs -- which takes us about 20 weeks. Their weight gain is modest for the first couple of months, but really picks up speed the last 4 to 6 weeks.Hogs are omnivores (like us) so they can eat grains, meats, dairy as well as fruits and vegetables. We purchase hog mash (16% protein) from Hotts AG Services, an independent feed mill in Franklin, WV. And we supplement this standard feed with plenty of our table scraps and damaged garden produce. Plus we allow our hogs to root in the ground for tubers, grubs, worms and, of course, roots -- inside electric fencing on pasture.

Chowing down -- side by side!

A 250 lb hog, once eviscerated, results in a carcass of about 188 lbs (75%). Once boned and butchered, the "package weight" results in about 140 lbs (75%) of pork. There are lots of different ways to cut-up a hog but a rule of thumb is: 20% is ham, 20% is shoulder, 10% is sausage, 10% is bacon, 16% is chops or loin, 4 % is spare rib, 13% is fat and 7% is bone. We process our hogs in a variety of ways -- sometimes we get a whole hog made into sausages and other times we'll get the butcher to cure the hams, jowls and bacon. Our specific instructions are spelled out on the "cut sheet" we drop off with the hogs.

The feed conversion on a hog is about 4 to 1. Four pounds of feed will develop 1 pound of hog. So to grow a 250 lb hog, we need to feed each hog about 1,000 lbs of feed. If the weather is too hot or too cold, this feed conversion can be negatively affected. So we house our hogs in a shady area with plenty of straw bedding and clean water. This is NOT how most hogs are raised here in America -- most are raised by the thousands in confined, indoor pens on hard slatted floors so that the manure can be washed into huge waste lagoons. No sunshine, fresh air or freedom to run or wallow.

We are proud of our pork process! Here are some of the happy hogs we've raised here at Taproot Farm.

A lot of hype surrounds the "High Tunnel" these days. There's a strong push for them in both industrial ag & small-scale production coming from the land-grant universities & the USDA, which has been practically giving them away (generally in the form of 60-90% cost shares) in recent years. Understandably so: the opportunities for season extension and winter production can aide in the transition from a consumer culture that's used to a plentiful variety of produce whenever they visit the supermarket to a more localized diet more of the time. High tunnels can help producers meet consumer demand over a longer period of time, increasing the economic viability of the enterprise and encouraging customer loyalty throughout the year. They also afford the opportunity to produce crops that otherwise might not survive local conditions, such as ginger or certain citrus fruits. Sounds like a magic bullet, which should be a cue to all level-headed citizens to consider them with a healthy dose of skepticism.

A high tunnel is essentially an unheated, plastic wrapped greenhouse. The UV stabilized plastic covering lasts for about 4-5 years before exposure to the elements degrades it to the point of needing replacement. Meanwhile the covered environment sheds rainwater that would otherwise directly water the plants inside thereby making irrigation a necessity. Here's where the skepticism comes in: Is the use and disposal of thousands of square feet of petroleum by-product every 5 years (﻿READ﻿: plastic) and the associated irrigation worth the benefits reaped by the farmers and the communities they serve? Personally, I'm unsure. This is my first season working with a high tunnel and I'm still getting my bearings. Skepticism doesn't necessarily translate as disapproval though, and ideally it enhances one's ability to investigate matters.

Spring veggies coming up!

Nerd Alert! I'm a fan of data: collecting it, compiling it, and synthesizing it. And that's how my relationship with the high tunnel here at Taproot began. Since I arrived here I've begun monitoring soil temperature, soil moisture, ambient temperature and relative humidity in Li'l Georgia (so-called because of it's similarities to my native growing season) to get a firmer grasp of the utility of the space. I've learned a few things so far that seem worthy of sharing.

The ambient temperature buffers the cold by about 5-10 degrees Farenheit at night, while during the day it has been up to 30 degrees warmer, mas o menos.

The ability to retain heat in the soil is less in raised beds edged with wood. The soil temperature in the beds is consistently 3-5 degrees cooler than the soil temperature in the pathways.

The high water table in this area in the spring minimizes the need for drip irrigation early in the season, a boon to aquifers everywhere.

While I remain skeptical about high tunnels in general, I've had a lot of fun in ours. It's really wonderful to have a protected enclosure to work in on chilly, windy days. We've been able to get a good jump on the season, too. The snap peas are shooting up, the cilantro is sprouting, turnips, beets, carrots, radishes, onions and all the brassica family crops (kale, broccoli, collards, brussel sprouts, etc.) couldn't be happier in there.

I learned a lot about cold-weather production in high tunnels at the West Virginia Small Farms Conference this year, and I'm totally stoked to use this resource to the fullest: focusing on crops that really like the heat in the summer and shifting to crops for winter harvest later in the season.

So while my mind isn't totally made up on the subject, I recognize that high tunnels can potentially be of great service to us. Give me a few more years of experience with these guys recording the data, weighing the harvest & tabulating profitability and I'll probably be able to make up my mind. Till then, hope y'all get to enjoy some of these early veggies!

I had the greatest conversation with our friend, Lindsay, the other day. Standing in front of the "Honesty Store" together, she could barely contain her excitement telling me why she HAD to come over and buy more of our Taproot honey.

This tale will make your heart happy... and validate what we seem to be re-learning about REAL food. That chemical-free, local food can be exactly the "medicine" our body craves.

Here's what Lindsay told me:"My daughter Keera has been struggling with stomach problems since she was little. Pain, acid reflux, lack of appetite. People would tell me not to worry about it- she'll outgrow it. Her doctor and I have tried so many things to relieve her discomfort, including prescription drugs. But nothing has helped very much or for very long.

Keera and Lindsay

So, this summer we finally took Keera to to a pediatric gastro-enterologist at UVA . As part of the exam, he tested her for allergies. And, returning with the results, he told us that Keera is highly allergic to a lot of things. And that sometimes it can effect the intestines and make them sensitive to lot of things. He also tested her for a disease called H-pylori- an intestinal disease that, at its worst, can sometimes lead to ulcers or cancer in the stomach.That was a Tuesday. He scheduled her for a biopsy the next Friday, since she tested positive for H-p. "

Lindsay lit up telling me this next part, "It was during that week between doctor visits that I came over to Taproot and bought a big jar of honey, remember? It was so funny. Keera, who usually doesn't dig into new foods, took a spoonful of that honey and said, 'Mom, this is so good!'Ha! Before I knew it, in just a few days, Keera had polished off the ENTIRE jar by herself. I thought she'd get sick from so much honey- but, she was actually enjoying eating! And I remember what the doctor had said- let her eat what she wants. Kids most often eat what they need. Adults think too much, we don't listen to our bodies. We so often steer away from exactly what our bodies tell us we need (dieting, marketing...), but kids are more intuitive. They listen.

Well, this is the great part- the morning of the biopsy, they redid her blood work. She still went in for the biopsy, but that afternoon the UVA doctor called kind of excited and said, 'I need to know what Keera did differently this week between the first visit and today! Tell me exactly what you changed in her diet. I need to know.'"Lindsay didn't know if she wanted to admit Keera had eaten a whole jar of honey! Maybe she was in trouble. :-)

But she confessed, "My friend sells honey. Keera ate almost the whole jar this week!"And the doctor replied, "Well. That explains it. Wow. Today's bloodwork showed that 50% of the allergens were gone! Was the honey local?" Lindsay told him, yes, our bees are raised in the town where she lives.Lindsay was so cute recalling the conversation to me."Beth, you should have heard him. He was so excited. He said, 'Well, that is amazing. I don't believe it - almost 50% of the allergens in Keera's bloodwork are gone. I've never seen anything like that. And I had even told you how sick she was and that she might suffer from this for a long time.' Then he asked about her, 'How's she feeling these days?'.

Tim and Wwoof intern, Nick, smoking the bees to calm them before honey harvest.

With a big smile Lindsay told me, "Keera's doing great. We had a 3-month checkup and her biopsy was fine. Bloodwork is better. She feels so much better than she used to.The doctor is so wonderful. He talks directly to my daughter about her health.When he came in the room this last visit, he was smiling and shaking his head again. And last thing he said to her was- 'Keera, I can't get over this. You just keep eating that honey! Doctor's orders.' " :-)

Up close honey production.

Poured straight out of the extractor.

Lindsay loves to tell her honey story and was happy for me to blog about it. "I wish I could have had him on tape, Beth. He was so excited!"

She's been back recently for more honey and last report is that Keera is off all medicine. And her stomach has felt fine.Ahhh... the mystery of good eating!

This growing season will be our second year raising meat birds. We had some "learning experiences" last year. We lost some chickens to the heat because the coop was not properly ventilated. And I lost my temper a few times when feeding them -- these birds have voracious appetites and will trample you to get to the bowls. But all is not lost, we are just a bit smarter and have improved our Taproot system for 2014.

Our game plan is to follow the methods of the "Prophet of Pasture Poultry" -- Joel Salatin. He perfected a style of floorless portable pens, measuring 10' x 12' which are moved daily to fresh pasture. The birds feed on grass and other forages, worms and insects and the supplemental grain-based feed we give them. It is so successful for Salatin and his Polyface Farm team that they raise 20,000 meat birds a year with this method.

We are planning a much more modest 2014 goal , of course. Our first batch of chicks are about to leave the brooder and head outdoors.

One day old Cornish Cross peeps.

We order our peeps from Meyer Hatchery in Ohio and they arrive by US Mail. The current crop is the "standard" meat bird -- Cornish Cross. They grow at an incredible rate -- from chick to slaughter bird in just 7 or 8 weeks! The feed conversion is about 3.5 to 1 -- meaning 3.5 lbs of feed to 1 lb of meat. (And on pasture it decreases to only 3:1, I'm told.)

Can't get anything fresher than that!

Our ground pen is under construction. Thanks to the fine folks at Hensel Family Farms, we have a dimensional cut sheet and diagram of the design (go to their Resources page). Here are some progress photos of our initial efforts.

Once finished (THIS weekend, Beth says), the ground coop will go into the pasture with our ewes. As our ewes move from one rotational paddock to the next, the chickens will follow. The benefits are many. The birds get fresh greens every day and plenty of sunshine and fresh air. Our parasite control is enhanced as the birds scratch and peck through the sheep droppings... a very clean, healthy process. Our pastures are manured by chicken waste -- a very high nitrogen addition. And in just six more weeks, we'll have fresh broilers to eat ourselves and sell to our friends and neighbors. This is a WIN x 4 -- making the "hard to beat" category!

Our first birds will be processed on the farm by our experts from Team Taproot on April 30.

If you are interested in some- pricing is $3.50/lb for 1 to 4 birds. If you want to reserve some by phone ( 304 856-1336) or email (taprootfarmwv@gmail.com). Our next batch will be Rainbow Rangers and will be on pasture in early May and ready to process in mid-July.